Poetry in the digital age. Does it matter how it looks?

Even the slightest visual aspects of a poem seem to be coming to an end with digital delivery. Here is a selection from Prof. Paul Muldoon’s poem in the current Times Literary Supplement paper version and then, two digital options:

Barrage Balloons, Buck Alec, Bird Flu and You

~Paul Muldoon

there’s no denying a rooster
will put most of us in a flooster
while the pig that turns out to be less pig than ham
is every bit as alarming. Am I right in thinking that’s meant to be a ram
in a ferraiolo cape?
Hasn’t the ewe with scrapie got herself into a scrape?

TLS e-paper (complete poem in one paragraph):

…potato-moth. On Cave Hill, meanwhile, the hunt was on and the time was ripe for the limer-hounds to revert to type. Though you may dismiss as utter tosh my theory this gung-ho stallion’s by Bacon out of Bosch, there’s no denying a rooster will put most of us in a flooster while the pig that turns out to be less pig than ham is every bit as alarming. Am I right in thinking that’s meant to be a ram in a ferraiolo cape? Hasn’t the ewe with scrapie got herself into a scrape? I don’t suppose the moorland streams over which the huntsmen ride roughshod and the puddles through which their horses plod will give rise to enough salmon to fertilize the soil and stave off another famine. I hadn’t seen the connection between “spade”…

Factiva, journal delivery service (poem in several paragraphs):

…ripe for the limer-hounds to revert to type.

Though you may dismiss as utter tosh my theory this gung-ho stallion’s by Bacon out of Bosch, there’s no denying a rooster will put most of us in a flooster while the pig that turns out to be less pig than ham is every bit as alarming. Am I right in thinking that’s meant to be a ram in a ferraiolo cape? Hasn’t the ewe with scrapie got herself into a scrape? I don’t suppose the moorland streams over which the huntsmen ride roughshod and the puddles through which their horses plod will give rise to enough salmon to fertilize the soil and stave off another famine. I hadn’t seen the connection between “spade” and “spud” and “quid” and “cud” till I noticed the mouth of an Indian elephant from the same troupe the film-makers fitted with “African” ears and tusks was stained with nettle soup.

It’s taken me thirty years to discover…